Once in a while, I notice how many people I know. And how few of them I truly feel close to.

That’s not a cry for help. It’s just an observation. I have people. Group chats. Friendly voice notes. A calendar full of things.

But the actual list of people I can text without context, of people I can call when I don’t want to explain myself, of people who still really know me - that list is short. Shorter than I expected for someone who’s lived fairly socially, at least a few years ago.

I don’t think it was always this way. So what changed?

Here’s a theory: adult relationships don’t erode from disinterest, (sometimes, if we don’t pay attention) they get slowly redefined.

We date people we could’ve stayed friends with.

We collaborate or work with people we used to just enjoy.

We turn casual intimacy into work.

We take the ease of connection and turn it into projects.

We stay “in touch” with people we no longer let in.

No one’s at fault. The closeness didn’t end. It just… changed category.

It’s a little like trying to convert a beautiful house into an office space. Sure, it technically still stands. But something of the original essence of it has quietly exited the room.

I’ve noticed this in my own patterns.

Some people I drifted from because the connection escalated too quickly; emotionally, romantically, or otherwise. And once the intensity wore off, we found ourselves in a future neither of us had planned to reach. The closeness didn’t disappear, but it stopped knowing where to go.

Others I lost because we worked together. Once money enters a conversation, it tends to rearrange the furniture. What was once effortless becomes a scheduling problem. What was once banter now needs a deck.

Others were just neglected. No incident. Just that “let’s catch up soon” that never gets scheduled.

And so now, I know a lot of people. But most of them aren’t on the first page of my mind anymore.

There’s a quiet desire to do it differently.

Not by “getting the gang back together.” Not some sentimental reunion fantasy. But by building new friendships that don’t need to be converted into anything - allowed to just stay soft, ongoing, and unnecessary in the best way.

And maybe that’s the real work now:

Not to make more friends, or be more social - but to stop letting intimacy turn into a transaction.

P.S. The strikethroughs in this piece are deliberate. I left them in because editing them out felt dishonest - they don’t fit neatly, but it some of how my brain was thinking while I was writing this.

Once in a while, I notice how many people I know. And how few of them I truly feel close to.

That’s not a cry for help. It’s just an observation. I have people. Group chats. Friendly voice notes. A calendar full of things.

But the actual list of people I can text without context, of people I can call when I don’t want to explain myself, of people who still really know me - that list is short. Shorter than I expected for someone who’s lived fairly socially, at least a few years ago.

I don’t think it was always this way. So what changed?

Here’s a theory: adult relationships don’t erode from disinterest, (sometimes, if we don’t pay attention) they get slowly redefined.

We date people we could’ve stayed friends with.

We collaborate or work with people we used to just enjoy.

We turn casual intimacy into work.

We take the ease of connection and turn it into projects.

We stay “in touch” with people we no longer let in.

No one’s at fault. The closeness didn’t end. It just… changed category.

It’s a little like trying to convert a beautiful house into an office space. Sure, it technically still stands. But something of the original essence of it has quietly exited the room.

I’ve noticed this in my own patterns.

Some people I drifted from because the connection escalated too quickly; emotionally, romantically, or otherwise. And once the intensity wore off, we found ourselves in a future neither of us had planned to reach. The closeness didn’t disappear, but it stopped knowing where to go.

Others I lost because we worked together. Once money enters a conversation, it tends to rearrange the furniture. What was once effortless becomes a scheduling problem. What was once banter now needs a deck.

Others were just neglected. No incident. Just that “let’s catch up soon” that never gets scheduled.

And so now, I know a lot of people. But most of them aren’t on the first page of my mind anymore.

There’s a quiet desire to do it differently.

Not by “getting the gang back together.” Not some sentimental reunion fantasy. But by building new friendships that don’t need to be converted into anything - allowed to just stay soft, ongoing, and unnecessary in the best way.

And maybe that’s the real work now:

Not to make more friends, or be more social - but to stop letting intimacy turn into a transaction.

P.S. The strikethroughs in this piece are deliberate. I left them in because editing them out felt dishonest - they don’t fit neatly, but it some of how my brain was thinking while I was writing this.